The Window on the Sunny Side of the Street
by Golem XIV
Summary: A medieval AU one-shot. It's one of those ideas that suddenly come over me and simply won't leave me alone until I write them. No, I'm not going anywhere with this one, I've got way too many things cooking. What you're seeing is what you're getting. If anyone wants to adopt it, be my guest.


**Author's Note:** I posted this on Tumblr a couple of weeks ago and I forgot to post it here, also. Sorry for the delay. I hope you enjoy it.

-=oOo=-

 **The Window on the Sunny Side of the Street**

A beautiful, clear morning dawned after last night's storm washed away and cleansed the filth and the stench both from the air and from the narrow street that wedged itself between tall walls covered in crumbling mortar and faded paint.

The street itself was by now alive with sounds. The clip-clop of wooden soles on stone; the rattle of iron-rimmed wheels on rough cobbles as peddlers pushed their carts and shouted loudly their offerings of produce and pastries, of knife-sharpening and kettle-mending; the wavy, pervasive murmur of an ever-trickling current of humanity as it slowly flowed through. All of it mingled and clashed and braided as it climbed up the rough wooden and brick sides of the deep man-made canyon until it overflowed like a droning tide through her window and filled her small room.

Rachel sat hunched over a sheet of parchment held unrolled by pins stuck through its corners and into the wooden surface of the desk. She dipped the quill into the inkwell and continued her task, ignoring the rippling thrum infiltrating from below and the gentle breeze that rustled quietly in the lacy curtains, bringing in the sweet smell of meadows and forests. Her attention was focused completely on the soft scratching of the quill's tip and the trail of elegant, slightly cursive letters that it left behind on the clean white surface.

 _… the Apothecary must exercise Caution, for while 'tis true that the Fox's Glove has indeed these stupendous Properties, it must be administered with the highest of the Caution and Care, in that larger Amounts or stronger Doses may lead to Palpitations and the erratic functioning of the Heart…_

Her tongue poked out against her upper lip as she wrote. She paused to dip the quill again in the inkwell and it hid quickly back inside her mouth, just to sneak out shyly again as she resumed her work.

Soon enough the page was filled with her graceful, meticulous handwriting. She wiped the quill and placed it in its holder, then sprinkled fine white sand over the text to absorb any ink that still remained wet.

Shaking the sand off, she reviewed her work with satisfaction, rolled the parchment up and tied it with a purple ribbon, placing the rolled-up work into a basket where several other similar pieces waited. She closed her strained eyes and stretched to uncramp her shoulders with a sigh of contentment.

The monastery bells rang the terce, catching her attention and making her look up. The sun had just managed to climb high enough that its still-slanting rays finally shone over the building across the street and through her window, forming a wedge of light full of dancing dust motes. A small smile lit up her pale features; she had finished just in time.

She rose and walked to the water-barrel, filling quickly a small wooden pail with water. She carried it over to the window and placed it carefully down, then leaned through and studied the plants that were growing in a messy profusion from pots hung below the frame.

Her hands ran affectionately, almost caressingly through the delicate stems and leaves, but her eyes were soon pulled away elsewhere. They were searching the downhill slope of the street, looking for a particular figure among all others, a special face in the ebb of humanity streaming below.

 _Azar help me, I'm behaving like a fool!_ she scolded herself, but never paused in her search. _Leaning out of my window to gawk at that boy whenever he goes by._

Her brow creased slightly and she bit her lip. _He probably doesn't even know I exist. How could he? He has never seen me. If he would only…_

A light powdering of pink appeared on her cheeks. She wished so hard for him to look up and meet her eyes, but the idea that he might actually _do it_ made her shiver for a moment.

 _The last thing I need is for him to raise his eyes and see me staring at him,_ she grumbled to herself. _By Azar, I would probably die of embarrassment on the spot!_

Her brows came a little closer together. _It's all for the best. What if he does look up? What will he see? A small girl that's so pale she looks like a corpse._ She shook her head and sighed. _I really need to go out a little more and let the sun shine on me more often. Maybe that will help with this horrid pallor._

She filled a small wooden cup with water from the pail and sprinkled it over the plants.

 _I should stop with this nonsense. I should go back inside, pick up the scrolls and bring them to Sister Monetti so we can put everything together and take it to the binder's. Yes. I think I'll do that right now._

Her hands continued to trickle water from the small wooden cup onto the plants, and her eyes still roamed the street, searching.

 _He won't come. He had something to do and he couldn't come. He won't be here. I shouldn't wait any longer. It's stupid to wait. I'm stupid to wait. This is all a waste of time._

She bent and refilled the cup, then went back to her leaning and watering. Her dark eyebrows came together again.

 _After all, he's not that cute, either. I've never been able to see the color of his eyes. I bet he looks quite plain when you see him from up close._ Her lips pursed and she snorted. _Yes, he's probably as ugly as a donkey, and just as stupid. Humph._

If not for the profusion of leaves over which the water seeped and dribbled off without reaching the soil, Rachel's plants and flowers would've rotted and wilted a long time ago due to overwatering. As it were, most of it trickled away to drip down, without anyone on the street being bothered. A few drops of flower-water were nothing; what you needed to be careful of was having a chamber-pot emptied over your head.

 _Why am I doing this? He is sure to have a girl. There is no way such a sweet boy hasn't been snatched up in a heartbeat. What are you doing, Rachel? What do you hope for? You're really pathetic, you know that?_

Suddenly she gasped. By now she didn't have to see his face to recognize him. The shuffling walk, the slightly hunched shoulders and the hands in his pockets, it all shouted _it's him!_ far before she could even make out his features. She stepped quickly back to hide inside while she slapped her cheeks vigorously and bit and sucked on her lip to bring out some color to her face. She took a deep breath, put on a disinterested, almost haughty expression and leaned out again, still pretending that she was watering the plants.

-=oOo=-

Garfield's eyes slowly rose up, then quickly dropped down. He released a deep breath that he didn't even realize he was holding. The reason why he was walking up this particular street at that particular moment was watering her flowers, like she always did at this hour.

He strode uphill at a leisurely pace. He wasn't in a hurry; in fact, he wanted to be as slow as possible while still remaining inconspicuous. His eyes bobbed up and down as the wish to look at her and fill his heart and his mind with her image battled with the apprehensive fear of getting caught staring, and the need to see where he was going.

He was never able to get as close to her as he wished, but he did get near enough to notice from the very first day how extraordinarily beautiful she was. Her pale features were a sharp contrast to the deep black of her hair, shining with violet reflections as the sun's rays filtered through it.

 _I wonder what color her eyes are. They must be as beautiful as everything else about her._

When was it that he saw her the first time? He didn't remember well, it must've been weeks ago. But from the very first day she captivated him thoroughly, and the drive, the urge, the _need_ to see her every morning as she watered her flowers turned almost into an obsession.

He sighed deeply. _You're an idiot, Gar Logan. A girl like that has suitors waiting in a line five miles long. She could have her pick of anyone she wanted. Like she would go for a simple stablemaster's apprentice that smells of horses._

He snuck a look at her and relaxed, noticing she was busy with the plants. He took advantage of it to study her, admiring every delicate feature and every elegant movement she made. He realized his mouth was open and snapped it shut.

 _Great. I'm literally drooling over her. What a piece of work you are, Garfield. Just make sure you don't creep her out with your staring._

He forced his eyes down again and slowed his pace. People bumped into him from behind, grumbled and glared. He ignored them.

 _Maybe I should say 'Hello'? No, that's stupid. Wave to her? It's a nice gesture, but too obvious. I could wink at her…_ He shook the idea off. Now _that_ was a sure way to end up with a flower pot crowning his head. _I know, I'll just nod a serious greeting like mature, well-bred people do. At least I hope they do._

His steps slowed down as he approached her. He willed himself to walk quicker, seeing that he was already attracting attention. If he didn't watch it, he'd soon stop and stand there staring with his mouth hanging open like an idiot, sticking out from the crowd like a sore thumb. In any case, by now he had to tilt his head up to look at her, and it would certainly not do to get caught doing that. He gritted his teeth, picked up his pace and forced his eyes to stare straight ahead.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow he'd come by again, and nod to her, and she would nod back, and he would ask her name.

 _Hey, I'm Gar Logan. What's your name? I love you._

He shook his head, trying to chase away the disturbing thought. This wasn't _love,_ it was just a crush. A… what was that big word? An infatuation.

 _Yeah, listen to the expert. As if you could tell one from the other,_ a sarcastic part of his brain saw fit to comment.

 _Shut up, willya? Like you've got anything to boast about._

He frowned, drove it away from his mind and hastened to pass below her window and continue up the street. He would return tomorrow.

-=oOo=-

How small can a life-changing event be? As small as a drop of water.

It fell from the cup and rolled over the leaves and dropped down towards the street to splash in a cool spray over Garfield's nose. Surprised, he instinctively looked up and was utterly, irrevocably, unconditionally lost.

They were blue, those eyes of hers. A blue so intense it was almost violet; clear as the evening sky and deep as a silent mountain lake. His feet stopped, frozen in their tracks. His heart skipped, twisted out of his chest. His mind burned, blasted clear of every thought but the wish to gaze into those bottomless wells for the rest of his life, to dive in and drown in them.

Rachel leaned out, breathless. Her head was pulled down and drawn closer by an incredible weight, an irresistible magnetism, an indisputable compulsion. Her mind quickly lost itself in the lush, feral, almost feline green of the eyes that were staring back at her with equal fascination. Her hand reached out, seeking support and leaning on one of the pots, but the rope it was hanging from was old and had suffered long from sun and rain and frost; as Rachel's weight made itself felt it snapped and the pot plummeted down.

Rachel stumbled back, seeking to recover her balance. A loud crash and a yelp of pain came through her window. Her hand went to her mouth.

 _Azar, what have I done? I've killed him! The pot hit him and smashed his head in and –_

An image of his eyes, now glassy and lifeless, flashed in her mind. " _No!_ " she cried and rushed to the door, wrenched it open and sprinted downstairs, leaping over four and five steps at a time, heedless of the danger.

She burst out on the street and her knees went weak in relief. The boy was sitting asprawl amongst bits of baked clay and soil and plant matter that were strewn about, his face betraying a deep daze and confusion but very much alive. A small trail of blood trickled from his cheek where a piece of flying pottery slashed him.

The sight galvanized her into action. She leaned over him, scanning him quickly for possible injuries, but it was clear that the pot smashed on the cobbles, not on his head. "Are you well?" she asked in a still-trembling voice. He looked at her without comprehension.

A crowd was gathering already. They were the usual layabouts and gawkers that always seemed to converge and flock like vultures over a carcass, attracted by other people's misfortune, cackling and snickering.

She scowled. The cut on his cheek did not seem deep, but he was bleeding, and she was a healer. Standing there wringing her hands was not helping. She wrapped his arm around her shoulder and helped him up, pulling him towards the door.

"Come," she ordered. "I must see if you're hurt."

He stumbled alongside her. There was no way he could've resisted. Even if he ignored the fact that his arm was draped around her slender shoulders, even if he disregarded that sweet scent of medicinal herbs and parchment and incense that rose from her, even if he could dismiss that low, somewhat raspy voice of hers that hummed in his mind, stirring it and sending thrilling shivers down his spine, straight to –

"Watch the steps," she cautioned. He blinked, shook his head to clear it and nodded. They reached the second floor and she helped him in, directing him to a comfortable chair and lowering him onto it.

She removed his arm from her shoulders somewhat reluctantly and headed for the fireplace, where a small pot of water was bubbling. She dipped a clean linen cloth in the water and returned to his side.

"Keep still," her voice brooked no opposition. She pressed it along the cut, cleaning as thoroughly and as gently as she could.

"Ow," he complained softly. She pursed her lips and grunted an encouragement. "I'm almost finished. You're doing a great job."

"I am?" he asked in confusion. She turned to rummage through a cupboard and to hide the smile that appeared on her face. Soon enough she came up with two flasks.

"Calendula and aloe," she explained. "They will accelerate the healing and fight off any infection."

He closed his eyes blissfully, enjoying the fluttering touch of her fingers and her scent in his nostrils. "What's your name?"

Her fingers paused for a second, then resumed their work. "Rachel."

"I'm Garfield. You can call me Gar," he mumbled. Her fingers were still playing on his cheek with feathery touches that both burned and soothed the skin beneath them. "What do you do?"

"I'm a novice in the Azarathian monastery," she answered off-hand, still worried about the cut on his cheek. "This may leave a scar."

"Monastery?" he opened his eyes in barely contained alarm. "Are you a nun?"

"No, silly!" she smiled at him. His eyes widened and he almost gasped. It was the most beautiful smile he ever saw. "I told you, I'm a novice. I am studying for a healer."

"But you've taken the… y'know, the whatchamacallits, the chastity vows?" As soon as those words went out of his mouth he almost bit that stupid, traitorous tongue of his off.

She lifted an amused eyebrow. "There are no chastity vows in the Azarathian creed. We are a belief of love and peace."

"Oh." He was silent while she applied the finishing touches. "I'm a stablemaster's apprentice."

"It doesn't surprise me," Rachel chuckled. "You do have a whiff of horse about you."

He frowned and his cheeks reddened. Seeing his reaction she chuckled again. "I like it."

"You do?" his eyes studied her closely, as if he was afraid she was pulling his leg. She nodded. "It's wild, and natural, and powerful."

She finished treating the cut on his cheek and walked to the cupboard to place the vials of calendula and aloe back. Garfield rose from the chair.

"Rachel?"

"Yes?" she said quietly, not turning to face him. The healer had finished, the role had retired, the assertiveness and self-assurance that came from the confidence in her skill and knowledge was gone. She was again only a shy young girl.

"Thank you."

She just nodded, with her back still turned to him. He swallowed, scratched the back of his head and cleared his throat.

"Uh… listen, if you want… I was thinking…" he ran his finger under his collar. The sun streaming through the window made the room very hot suddenly.

She kept her back turned to him while she pulled several flasks from the top shelf of the cupboard and placed them on the bottom and then returned them back. Pink spots were blooming on her cheeks.

"Would you like to go… riding with me sometimes?" he somehow managed not to stutter.

Her shoulders slumped. She turned to face him, but her eyes were fixed on the floor.

"I'd like to, but… I don't know how."

"I could teach you!" he blurted out without even thinking. His cheeks burned and he fought the urge to swallow with all his might.

She looked up, hope and delight shining in her gaze. "I would love that," she said softly while her blush deepened, spreading all over her face. Her small smile widened, and his heart did all sorts of impossible things. It stopped and raced and swelled and burst and tried to fly out from his chest. He gulped several times to force it back in its place and endeavored to keep the hoarseness from his words.

"Great! Can I come for you… tomorrow… at this time?"

"It would be… very nice of you," she spoke in a barely audible voice while her eyes searched assiduously the floor for something.

"Great!" The joy in his voice sent warm tingles all through her. "I'll see you then!"

She nodded and watched him as he left, his lips curled into a wide, goofy grin. She moved over to the window and pulled the curtains back a little to be able to see him as he exited the building and walked away with an exhilarated strut to his step and his head held high. She leaned on the frame and continued to follow him with her eyes until he finally disappeared in the crowd. The small, happy smile remained on her lips and in her eyes all day long.


End file.
